First Lutheran Church
August 21, 2022 – The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
Luke 13:10-17Now [Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.
Sermon
Pastor Greg Ronning
I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated the story in today’s appointed Gospel, the story about a woman who was “bent over and quite unable to stand up straight.” It’s been three years since this story appeared in our lectionary, and over the last three years I have discovered the story anew. It’s now a story to which I can began to relate.
You see there have been moments, increasing moments over the last few years, when upon rising up from my chair, I am “bent over and quite unable to stand up straight.” It often happens on a day that I have been golfing, but sometimes It just happens on days when I’ve done nothing particularly strenuous. All of the sudden in the middle of standing up, my back just stops, it seizes up, and it refuses to fully straighten out. And in that moment, I am in pain, and all I can see is the floor below me. Thankfully, after a few steps, sometimes a few more, I am usually able to slowly rise up, and once again, able to look up and forward. But in that brief moment when I first try to get up, I can begin to imagine what it might have been like for the woman in today’s Gospel.
And honestly, I can only begin to imagine what her life must have been like. For eighteen years she has been “bent over and unable to stand up straight.” For eighteen years she has been forced to stare at the ground, watching only her feet and the feet others as she made her daily way in life. For eighteen years I imagine she rarely made eye contact with another person, exchanged a passing smile, shared a personal greeting. For eighteen years she struggled with her everyday work. For eighteen years she seldom had the opportunity to see the sun rise and set, to gaze up at the stars in the heavens. For eighteen years her condition pushed her down, and probably pushed her out to the margins of life. She must have been strong and resilient to survive, but over eighteen years she also must have been worn out and resigned to the burden that life had unfairly dealt her.
On this day, on the Sabbath, she shuffles head down to the synagogue where Jesus is teaching. We don’t know if this was her custom, a special trip, or just happenstance. Has she been coming for the past eighteen years seeking healing? Did going to the synagogue give her peace, hope, and comfort? I wonder if anyone ever noticed her presence? Or did she just disappear into the background, pushed down and out; down to the ground upon which she was forced to stare, out of the sight of everyone who stood up straight and tall?
Yet this day will be different! Something amazing will happen. It’s important to note that she does not approach Jesus, unlike others she does not come up to him and asked to be healed. Odds are, cast down as she was, that she doesn’t even see Jesus. But Jesus sees her! And this is the important part, Jesus sees her! Even though Jesus is engaged in teaching, in the middle of his sermon, busy leading the service; he suddenly becomes aware of her presence and stops everything and calls out to her, invites her to come over to him, invites her forward into his presence.
Everything must have come to a standstill as she slowly made her way over to Jesus. How strange it must have been for everyone to see this bent woman from the edges, slowly and deliberately shuffle into the very middle of it all. When she finally arrives, Jesus declares, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” He then lays his hands on her, and she immediately straightens up and begins singing praises to God. I imagine that her eyes were filled with tears as she straightened up and looked directly into Jesus eyes, as she looked face to face at those surrounding her, as she shared the joy of smiles, as she looked up towards heaven for the first time in years.
And then a stuffy church leader tries to ruin the moment. He is indignant(annoyed, offended, resentful, outraged, irate)because Jesus broke the rules, he violated the tradition, he interrupted the service order, he disrespected the Sabbath, Jesus did something new in a place that only valued the old ways. The Leader complains, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.”
The kingdom has suddenly broken into their world, and he is unable to see it. Ironically the synagogue, the sanctuary, the gathering, has not been designed to allow the kingdom to come. Sadly, in many ways, it actually hinders the coming of God’s kingdom. I am reminded of a meme I saw this past week on Facebook reminding us that whenever we pray, “Thy Kingdom come,” we are also in essence praying, “May my kingdom go.” This leader in the synagogue, and those who were aligned with him, were not open to the unfolding of God’s Kingdom, because it did not match their expectations, their small and limited understanding of the Kingdom of God.
Jesus quickly calls them out on their hypocritical demands, their inability to bear witness to the kingdom that is at hand; and the woman is allowed to continue to stand up straight and praise God, and the entire crowd began rejoicing at the wonderful thing that Jesus had done.
Today the good news comes to us, as it usually does, as a word of comfort and a word of challenge. We all have been forced to carry burdens in life, burdens that often leave us bent over, unable to straighten up, forcing our eyes down to the ground. Like the woman in today’s Gospel, we have physical ailments that make us weary and resigned. We also have burdens placed upon us by others, burdens that are psychological, sociological, and ideological. And all these burdens we carry tend to bend us over and lower our vision. Worn out with our heads down we stop making eye contact, exchanging smiles, and greeting one another. And in the process, we get pushed down and pushed out. And it may feel like nobody notices you and your struggles.
Today we are reminded of Jesus promise, “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” To that end the Spirit has gathered us together this morning to be the body of Christ, to that end the Spirit has given us eyes to notice each other’s burdens, and hands to help lighten each other’s loads. Just as the Spirit brought the woman in today’s Gospel to the synagogue, you have been brought here today. And just as Jesus noticed her, Jesus fleshed out in each of us, sees you.
And yes, that is the challenge, to allow ourselves to become the body of Christ for the sake of each other and for the sake of the totally other. To look out and notice, and reach out to those in need, as Christ. Yes, as Christ has done for us, and as Christ for the world. And not just inside the walls of our church, but out there in the world too!
We are called to seek out those who are bent from the burdens that life has forced them to carry, those who cannot stand up straight because of a burden society has unfairly placed upon them. We are called to notice the marginalized, the oppressed, the powerless, those captive to poverty, those who have been made scapegoats, those who are pushed aside because they are different, any and all those who are not included, those who are bent and cannot straighten up, those who cannot look up to the heavens, those whose eyes are cast down, those who have all but lost hope. And we are called to open up our space, our practices, just for them. To change in order that they might feel welcome. We are called to free up our spaces from anything that might hinder the coming of the Kingdom of God, in order that God’s love might transform all who are present “here in this place,” and all who live in our neighborhood. In order that God might “raise us up as on wings of an eagle, shine down on us like the sun, and hold us in the palm of his hand.”
Life is hard, and life is often not fair. So it is, that we are not called to judge people because of their burdens, we are not called to respond with a rigid legalism, but rather to be kind and compassionate. That’s what the leader of the synagogue in today’s gospel forgets, the heart of our faith, - compassion. He gets caught up in ritual for the sake of ritual, orthodoxy for the sake of orthodoxy, tradition for the sake of tradition. We are called to the compassion of Jesus, a compassion that sees “the broken body, the broken soul, the broken spirit, - before it sees the broken commandment.” (Debie Thomas).
May this compassion be the center of all that we do, here in this place and here in our world. May this compassion invite all those carrying burdens on the edges of life into the center of our faith community. May this compassion shape our practices. May this compassion guide us in the ways we use our sacred spaces. May the compassion of Christ find its way into our hearts, heal us, lift us up, and compel us to share the love of God with each other, and with those in need. Amen.